Gray Skies Are Going To Clear Up
by CraftyNotepad
Summary: Tagging at H. G. Wells and Keely knows who's responsible.


Disclaimer: I don't know what the weather will be like next week, nor do I own Phil of the Future. Either way, it doesn't hurt to carry an umbrella.

Author's Note: Am I the only one astonished by the failure of the Disney Channel to capitalize upon Aly's film career and Wildcats by rebroadcasting Phil of the Future episodes, or at least put out a DVD box set?

**Gray Skies Are Going To Clear UP ...**

"... and over this way - Mayor Da Luca, please stay with the group - over here there are several different versions of ..."

"Psst ... Keely. How are they doing?"

I waved Phil off. This was no time for me to be giving an interview. Phil kept rolling.

"Yes," I spoke into my microphone, gesturing to the VIPs with my free hand, "if you'll come closer together, there will be room for everyone to see. See?"

They saw. Some gasped, others hummed.

Cornelius Bodrey issued a reflective "Ah-hah" as he studied each one. "Seems indicative of early tribal expressionism, only more primitive."

"Well, this is high school," his buddy "Nacho" Thalhiemer remarked, withstood a barrage of stares, then reached into a bag and crunched another brittle chip to pierce this silence.

"Perhaps you best keeping us moving, Miss Teslow?" Vice-Principal Hackett offered, though he didn't make it sound like a suggestion.

"This way, People. We're walking, we're walking - OH!"

Turning the corner, I had walked my charges right smack into what high school is all about.

"(whoopsie ... our bad,)" someone whispered in an embarrassed tone.

In front of everyone, and I mean "every-one," because this was a special broadcast. Not only was this being seen in every classroom - mandatory viewing per Mr. H, but the City Council had authorized that this be simultaneously broadcasted on Pickford Public Access. My dream finally realized, but I couldn't enjoy it, so sure was I that everyone could see my guilt, but I digress. You probably want to know what everyone walked in on, don't you? Just one of my finest match ups ... okay, okay, my only successful bit of matchmaking! Happy now? Sheesh, you're worse than Phil. He never lets me forget how it was he who actually saved the day with Grace and Grady, but they were my idea, even if I did have it before Grace did. But, gee, just look at them now! "How can they go at it like that without coming up for air?" Did I say that out loud? Why doesn't Phil kiss me like that? Better yet, why don't I kiss him like that? I've got great lips, after all, two of them. Look at them go!

"All right, you two, back to class. No! Walk in different directions."

Everyone could tell that this wasn't Mr. Hackett's first time dealing with public displays of affection, but I'll bet it was his first time in front of all of Pickford. At least, "everyone" who was watching channel 17 at nine o'clock in the morning. No matter, this was his opportunity to shine and he knew it. That must have been why he grabbed the microphone away from me.

"Thank you, Miss Teslow. That will be all. Phil, give me a tight shot."

Oh, Phil did, but it's not easy to walk down the hall toting a camera and maintaining such a close up. Those beady little eyes, those flaring nostrils, that bouncing camera lens ... the transmission of Mr. Hackett's face to the homes of greater Pickford had many changing channels, confusing it for a 1950s low-budget sci-fi flick, "The Revenge of the Booger-Eyed Guy From Meteor Nine." Thanks Phil.

"Here's yet another example of the recent graffiti."

"What are those objects sticking out of the corners of the mouth, Mr. Hackett?"

"Oh? Um, um, um ... piercings? Or food escaping from an overstuffed mouth?" fumbled the befuddled administrator. "Is it important? This is vandalism, pure and simple."

"Or, or, is it expressionism, a sort of nouveau gorilla street art created to provoke thought by the viewers?"

"Miss Teslow, please stop helping," Mr. Hackett ordered, 9 AM and already tired of dealing with teenagers.

"What do you mean, 'gorilla street art,' Miss? We're not on a street; this is a hallway filled with lockers," queried a thick buddy of the mayor.

Before Keely could explain, an especially thick member of the fact-finding team pointed out that the nearest apes resided under lock and key at the Pickford City Zoo, then suggested that they all stop by the zoo after lunch to verify the whereabouts of said simians. Fortunately, eye rolling ran rampant and there was no seconding of the motion.

"Well, I believe they represent piercings," Hackett lied. Until that moment, he simply assumed the lines were portrayed food not yet in an overstuffed mouth. Oh, how he hated cafeteria duty, having to watch teenagers shoveled mass quantities into their gaping maws. He did know what made him think of mouth art; maybe something in his visitors' eyes caused him to consider something more controversial than shredded lettuce from one of Chef DuPré's Monday mystery meals. Additionally, he wouldn't have to apologize yet again - this time on public access - about the damaged that resulted to the school's plumbing, not to mention the students'. No, the school board definitely wouldn't appreciate his announcing that over the airwaves. "Yes, definitely piercings; I mean, he's smiling and who here remembers cafeteria food ever being that good?"

Watching on a flat screen in his culinary domain, Chef DuPré's fist tightened about his favorite spatula. Neckbrace Lana jotted down his outrage as he promised the ghost of Sandra Dee that the skinny, bald bad mouther would never forget his next meal in the cafeteria. When Lana pointed out to Chef that Sandra Dee wasn't dead yet, he replied rather ominously, "Nobody lives forever, mon cher ."

Back at the bottom of the staircase, "I dunno." It was Cornelius Bodrey again. "There's something almost familiar about this face; have you noticed the eyes?"

"Ooh, doggies, yes!" the owner of Mantis Hardware confirmed with her trademark exuberance. "Them thar googlie eyeballs - why, tarnation, it's clear this varmint ain't right in the head."

And with that statement, the corridor became darker, perhaps even a little foggy. Spooky.

"Miss Teslow, what are you doing now?"

"Just helping."

"Well, unless you want me to help you to a five-thousand word essay due Friday on the history of indoor lighting, from fire to fluorescent, uh, fluorescence ... fluorescences ... fluor - L.E.D.s., stop meddling."

With full knowledge of all eyes now staring at her, Keely reached for and threw the lever of the lighting juncture box's setting back to normal from "Spooky." She really didn't like the way Mr. Hackett had embarrassed her in front of all these people, in front of all of Pickford. Neither did her cameraman.

"There are more examples on the next floor," urged Vice-Principal Hackett as he led the way up the stairs, but he wasn't followed. Phil stayed planted on the first floor and without uttering a word, like any good camera operator, sent a clear message that despite Hackett's own delusion, Neil Hackett wasn't any kind of a leader; besides, Phil would later explain, the members of Hackett's little tour group had seen enough, anyway.

"Shoot. Turpentine will scare most of them doodles off," Henrietta Mantis suggested. "I can make the school a real good deal on a few drums of the stuff. Rags, too - Aisle Four."

Mr. H pussyfooted back down the stairs, embarrassed by his solitude. "Well, we really don't have any funds for such clean up with the current budget." Getting workers was no problem, of course. That's what Saturday detention was invented for: gum scraping, painting, reshingling, basic plumbing and electrical ... which explained the "Normal" and "Spooky" setting for the hallway lighting. Unsupervised teenagers and their twisted sense of humor. Any other light switch would have simply turned the lights off ... but then what could unsupervised teenagers do in the dark, anyway?

Those with, if not power, deeper pockets than a man still leasing a Bravada hatchback had begun kibitzing without his supervision. This would not play out well on television. Was his master plan in jeopardy? And to think that it had started so simply, so innocently, with Pim Diffy asking for just two minutes of his time ...


End file.
